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SONGS 


OF 
By 


EXILE 


Herbert 


Bates 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf.-/..|3__'5 S'S (> 
V8^4 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



•eCOls/n^QPY 




OATEN STOP SERIES 
V 



SONGS OF EXILE 

BY HERBERT BATES 




BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY 
M D CCC XCVl 



^ 






34538 



COPYRIGHT 1896 BY COPELAND AND DAY 






CONTENTS 




Songs of Exile 
Exiles of Plain 


Page 1 

2 


A Song of the Drouth 


12 


Charter Day Poem, University 
Nebraska 


of 

15 


Home 


20 


Prairie 


•2.7. 


Cold 


as 


On the Prairie 


24 


The Pioneers 


as 


Spring on the Prairie 


26 


Far Away 

The Giant Wolf 


28 
28 


Peisinoe 


29 


The Winter Sea 


30 


At Rest 


31 


Within the Gates 


32 


The Coming of the Storm 
Sea Gulls 


33 
34 


Alas, the Weary While 
In Spring 

The Brook's Good-Night 
The Elm 


35 
35 
36 

37 


Among the Oaks 


38 



CONTENTS 

Lone God Page 39 

V Song Homes on Hills 40 

■ In Some Sweet Place of Sunset 41 

The Heavens are our Riddle 42 

Transiency 43 

^ And Love, they Say, shall Fade 44 

/' Who are ye that Haste Away ? 45 

'^'The Message 46 

*' Before the Battle 47 

Grand Manan Island 48 

Behind the Barriers 49 

Da Capo 50 

Thine Eyes are Mirrors of Strange 

Things 5 1 

Baccalaureate Hymn, Harvard, '90 52 

Class Day Ode, Harvard, '90 53 

A Song of Fallen Leaves 54 

Death's Door 55 

In the Silence of the Sunset 56 

At Evening 57 

A Memory 58 

Prasterita 59 
There is a Music in the March of Stars 60 

The Day is Done 61 



SONGS OF EXILE 



FROM sea and plain, from prairie sprent 
With riotous sunflowers indolent, 
From billows flashing bloom of spray, 
From many an alien place they stray — 
These rhymes. No arduous flight their 

song, — 
Awed honor to earth's swift and strong 
And sweet. Night's vast, the dreamy 

boon 
Of odorous noon. 
Dread instancy of Death, the might of 

love, — 
All rapture, all above 
That lifts, enchants, appeals, — music that 

bears 
The key of tears, — 
Worship and awe and wonder, — these 

have stirred 
This answering word. 
And these to thee I bring. 
Who brought me spring, — 
Dearest and wife. Be all that love has 
done, 

Love's dower alone. 



SONGS OF EXILE 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

A DISROOTED FIR-TREE IN A PRAIRIE 
TOWN 

HOW didst thou ever come 
So far from thy heaped rocky home, 
Tree of the hills and sea ? 
What fate's divorcement, what abrupt exile, 
Severed thy stem and led thee here, like me, 
By many an obstinate mile 
Shut from the dear, barred bliss of all that 

used to be. 
Thy light wind-poising sprays 
Perhaps in summer days 
Hung o'er some tide-gorged cove. 
By cool, remote, reef-barred Atlantic bays. 
Fog-gated, mountain-walled. 
Where red-beaked gulls would rove 
In clamorous flocks, and sleep 
Like bubbled foam-heaps on the glassy deep. 
When all the winds were still. 

And there thou stoodst, and sea-caves under 

thee, — 
The pebbled, shell-strewn caverns of the sea, 
Where curious fish came nosing, rolling slow 

2 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

In the cold clear swaying swell, — 

And overhead thou feltst the breezes blow : 

The hard north wind, that sharpened like 

miracle 
The distant shores, and drew 
From far-ofF isles the blue 
Dreamed veil of distance, till, o'er miles of 

sea. 
Thy brethren answered thee 
From where they stood on some sea-breast- 
ing promontory j 
The keen north wind, glad-eyed. 
Song-hearted, triumph-strong. 
With flawless blue of pale sky pitiless 
And tingling life, who caught from thy 

stirred tress 
Sweet scent, balsamic, like, 
Alas, the odorous summonings that strike 
My senses as I bend above thee here. 
And bid the dead past near ! 
Like seaweed, tinged with sea, 
Gathered and sent memorial to me, 
Which, when I placed it in clean water, 

gave, 
Even to that pale water of the plain. 
Waif of some thunderous rain, 



SONGS OF EXILE 

The harsh, sweet scent of the Atlantic wave, 

Stinging my eyes to saltness with this scent 

So richly redolent 

Of all the empurpled wealth of clouded 
main, 

Drawing me back again 

To walk the pebbled, ocean-beaten floor, 

And hear the backward roar 

Of the resorbent anger of the deep. 

So thy scent wakes from sleep 

Old days of north wind, when I giddily 

Clambered the bastions high 

Of eastern crags, and pierced the caverned 
ways 

That filing sheep had tracked. 

Burrowing, woolly-backed, 

To reach some vantage-point of cliff, and 
see. 

Beneath, the green foam spreading thunder- 
ously ; 

And, following in their track, 

I stood alone, on some cleft pinnacle, 

And saw the sombre swell 

Heave shoreward under all the rippled ranks, 

To beat against the rocky barrier-banks 

That set God's limit to the world-wide sea. 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

All this thou bringst to me 5 
And then the picture changes, and the south 
(Not there the wind of drouth) 
Drives from his tented camp 
His fog-hosts of the damp, 
To shut into the silence of the hoar 
And century-hearted sea 
The youth and green redundance of the 

shore. 

Once more, tumultuously, 
I hear the trumpets of the east wind blow 
The onset of the embattled air. 
The summons of the gale 5 
And watch the gray-heaved sea, sprent 

fiercely pale, 
With spouting spume of wrath. 
And the wind' s serpent path. 
Foam -written, undulous along the waves. 
And hear the choking caves. 
The barking, surly cannon of the deep. 
Along the seaward steep. 
Besieging billows shoot their foamy towers ; 
Eastward, the ranged scud lowers ; 
And, seaward far, I catch 
Glimpses of staggering ships that match 
Their power with the plumM ranks of sea 

5 



SONGS OF EXILE 

And this, — discountried tree, — 
All this has once been thine 
As it has once been mine — 
Thine, whose sweet scent to me 
Is mixed memorially 
With the keen savor of the wind-rent brine. 

Tree of tV t rocky nest, of pinnacles 
Where only the bird dwells. 
Nor smoke of men, nor fields bestreaked 

with plows. 
Nor care-bewrinkled brows 
Come ever to intrude 
Upon thy stern, stone-rooted solitude ; 
Alas ! that thou shouldst stand 
An exile in a stoneless land. 
Where never hill may raise 
Its sudden skyward summit in God's praise ; 
Where the sleek hill-slopes swerve 
In russet, serpent curve 
To the dark draws where tawniest sunflowers 

nod. 
And sun-seared golden-rod j 
Where league-wide fields of pallid grain, 

dusk-furrowed 
And gopher-burrowed. 
Roll dizzy to the borders of the sight, 
6 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

A dim vast land of level light, 

Pallid and vacuous, 

Windily tenuous, 

Swept with the dusty south. 

Parched with the summer drouth. 

Fair with its fairness, but in that is none 

That thou canst call thine own. 

For love comes not of wish or will, 
But clings unalterable 
To the old dear sights that first 
Filled the child's eyes, and nursed 
His thoughts to song. What new-seen sights 

of mine 
Can speak the message of the wind-crowned 

pine 
That, solitary, crowned my hill of home ! 
What voice shall ever come 
From rippled corn speechful as came that 

slow 
Surged speech, as to and fro 
It swayed to murmurous cadence of the 

wind ! 
What mystery shall I find 
In plains explorable to match with thee. 
Stern, man-denying sea, 
W^ith wide, fog-vistaed ways untraceable 

7 



SONGS OF EXILE 

By furrow of any steel ! 

What speech have sulky sunflowers that star 

The prairie ridge afar 

To match the message childhood's daisy 
gave, 

Or the flame-glad field-lily, or such sea- 
bloom 

As wavered in the ocean cave 

Through shattered emerald gloom ! 

I have no skill of these. 
My spirit is the sea's. 

The rocky land's, — aspiring hardier ways 
To greet the blaze 
Of bluer, tenderer skies 
Wilful with tears, grief-tremulous, like the 

eyes 
That are indeed love's own. 

For Nature's level tone. 
Eternal smile, perpetual placitude, 
I love not, turning, rather, in my heart 
To such friend as thou art, 
O stern Atlantic sea, 
Misted with petulance of hovering storm. 
Snow-blurred, — or summer- warm, — 
Idle and amorous with transient kindliness j 
8 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

Thy changeful tress 

Now tossed with tenderest breeze, now ser- 
pent-spread 

The tempest's Gorgon halo of thy head, 

Medusa-terrible, — 

Thy voice, now keening with the hate of hell. 

Now fluting heaven's tropic, gold-bright 
halls, — 

Now, with fierce trumpet-calls, 

Shaking the heart of the lighthouse sentinel, 

Jarring the granite walls 

That barrier thy wrath, tolling the knell 

Of thy slain sons on many a wave-poised 
buoy, — 

Now soothing, with the joy 

Of starriest dream, the muffled roll of peace 

Sung by phosphoric seas 

That tramp the sodden sulkiness of sand 

Along the grumbling land. 

How oft with swaying keel 
Have I dared forth to feel 
The gliding long relapses of thy wave j 
How oft from cave to cave 
Have wandered the bored bastions of the 

coast, 
And scared the piping host 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Of ghostly gulls that dreamed above my 

ways, — 
Have entered silent bays 
Where the smooth swell broke bubbling up 

the beach, 
Learned all thy lore could teach 
Of veering fish, of ridgy porpoises, 
And all the tinier beauties of thine home, 
Dense seaweed, where the foam 
Lay balled in tremulous wreath. 
And felt thy invigorate breath 
From sparkling sundering depths of emerald 
Flecked with green-hearted gold — 
The mottled splendor of the prisoned sun. 

And now those days are done. 
Only this wide plain witnesses the sea, 
Only the lone infinity 
That hungers to no end, 
A land that seems not as a friend, 
A russet, stirless plain, whose lucent skies 
Like bold unfaltering eyes 
Burn steadfast all the hours of summer 

through. 

So I as you, 
Tree-friend, sea-sundered friend, 

lO 



EXILES OF PLAIN 

Disrooted, ponder j and, compassionate, 

Muse thine uprooted fate, 

And pray thy pity, even as mine for thee, 

God grant that we may see 

Some day the old ranged cliffs of home 

again; 
But, if it be not, — vain 
If hope and prayer be, — still 
Old memories shall thrill 
Our dreams in darkness, and these sights 

shall stand 
Beyond life's bounds to greet, 
In the dazed dawning of some ultimate land, 
Our wandered feet. 

In heaven there is no sea ? 
Then heaven is none for me, 
Far rather would I rove 
The old earth-places that I used to love, 
And with the sea-bird's flight 
Swoop up the wave's green imminence of 

light, 
And skim the caverned wall 
Of ocean cliffs where the majesticai 
And sullen headlands gloom the icy seas, 
Or drift in spacy ease 
Of ocean boundlessness, 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Till Time, with stress 

Of his frore hand, shall chill the shrinking 

sun, 
And day be done, 

And cold congeal the caverns of the sea. 
Then let my slumber be 
Swift, dearest Death, or lead me on, afar. 
To some out-sphered star. 
To some new planet where 
New hills rise fair. 
Where the long breakers melt along the 

misted bar. 
And the sea's ancient scent breathes up the 

spacious air. 



H 



A SONG OF THE DROUTH 

IS slow mules plodded on. 



And he heard the worn wheels clack. 
And the voice of the thin, sad wind 
As it whined behind his back. 

For the wind cried out of the south. 
The wind of the heat and dust. 

The gray wind of the drouth. 

That says, *' Thou must ! '' 

la 



A SONG OF THE DROUTH 

Thou must arise and go. 

Whether thou wilt or no, 

For the land throbs parched to death, 

And the shrivelled maize sobs dead, 

And the burnt wheat bows the head. 

And the gray dust stifles breath. 

Whether thou wilt or no. 

Thou must arise and go. 

Thy sod-built house that stands 

The heaped work of thine hands. 

The fields thy beasts have ploughed. 

The crops thine hands have sowed. 

The hopes thy heart has builded. 

The future, vision-gilded. 

The room where thy child breathed life. 

The grave where sleeps thy wife, — 

Whether thou wilt or no, 

Thou must leave them all, must go. 

Over the beaten track, 

With the thin wind at thy back, 

Plodding the powdered dust 

That climbs to the swirling gust, — 

Where the hungry coyote cries. 

Where the outcast farm-beast dies, 

Through the seared, crisp hiss of corn, 

Under brown trees, burnt, forlorn. 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Past the houses, empty, bare 
Of hope, to the old home where 
Life promised, long ago. 
The fulfilment to-day you know. 

Ah, what are the old home places, 

If they frame not the old home faces ? 

What glint upon boyhood's stream. 

When dead is the boyhood dream ? 

What charm can linger still 

To the firs on the ridging hill 

If you clasp no more her hand 

There where you used to stand ; 

If far away she lies 

With the plains-dust in her eyes, 

Alone, in the dusty dearth 

Of the clodded, iron earth ? 

Is it her voice that sighs 

Behind in the wind that cries. 

Her voice that bids you stay. 

Die where she died, not stray 

Back to the old east home. 

Where she may never come ? 

Back to the hopeless home. 

Back, with the sobbing wind 

Lamenting in thine ears, 

Back, with thy life behind, 

14 



CHARTER-DAY POEM 

Through the hissing, sun-seared fields, 

Through the drift of the sullen dust. 

At the gray will of the drouth, 

That says, **Thou must ! " 



CHARTER-DAY POEM, UNIVER- 
SITY OF NEBRASKA 

THE hunter shook from his brown pipe 
the spark 
That flashed into the dark 
Of the knotted grass-roots, and grew strong 

and sprang 
Into crackling flame, and it heard the wind 

that sang 
Its dry keen wail o'er the prairies, and 

strengthened and grew 
Till it flared to a league-long flame, and 

the scared birds flew. 
Smoke-blinded before it, and the blundering 

buffalo fled, 
And the coyote quacked in his covert, and 

the Indian said : 
** To-night the God of the fire has raised his 

head ! " 



SONGS OF EXILE 

From the fire of ancient worlds a little spark, 

chance-shaken, 
Fell on our alien plains, and spread alone. 
And strengthened till it shone 
World-wide 5 and nations said : When did it 

waken ? 
W^e saw not its birth, but to-day we see, 

afar, 
A flame that darkens the low sunset star. 
And drives the huddled night 
Cowering before the lances of its light. 

For a voice cried in the ear 

Of the West: Awake, for the future calls 

thee ! Hear, 
Child of the plain, to-day your limbs are 

strong. 
Your eyes are radiant ! Wake, for you sleep 

too long ! 
Wake, for the east hills quicken into day, 
And the gray wind of morning calls to 

song ! 
Wake, for within your heart there glows 

The prompting of the new-born soul. 
Strenuous and tireless, quickening as it 
knows, 

Far off, the destined goal ! 
16 



CHARTER-DAY POEM 

The golden sunflowers, myriad-blossoming, 
blaze 

From hill to golden hillj 
And melt at last into the golden haze 

Of the great distance. All the land is still 
With solitude, and only the quick bird 
Chirps in the grass ; no other sound is heard 
To praise God's golden gift. 
The white clouds sail and sift 
The mottled moonlight over the wide land. 
The slow streams flow ; the narrow forests 

stand 
Huddled and timorous for loneliness. 
Has God not given gifts enough to bless 
Our singers from their silence ? Has our ear 
Grown all too dull to hear 
The still, sweet voice of Nature's tenderness > 
Has she no whisper to awake 
The soul that dreams, the song that sleeps. 
Until its thrilling chords shall shake 

To the gray hearts of older lands. 
To where the ocean's iron deeps 

Complain upon their endless sands .? 

To love, to know, to sing, — these three 
Are God's most precious gifts to men, 



17 



SONGS OF EXILE 

To know what has been, and to see 

The ripening of what shall be, 
Far off beyond the present's ken. 

To read life' s book, and understand ; 
To tell the treasury of stars. 
And through Death's unrelenting bars 

To spy the bounds of spirit-land. 

To love, to know life fair, to see 
Earth beautiful, till each gray tree 
Shall tell its message, each star shine 
Some consolation, and the line 
Of the last hills shall speak of peace ; 
Till war and hate and envy cease. 
And over all the smiling land shall chime 
The petalled joy-bells of God's blossom- 
time. 

To sing, to tell it all. 
As the glad birds that call 
The green spring up the land, till each 
With happier heart shall learn and teach 
Such new accord of life as sings attune 
Through the dense leaves of June. 

To know, to love, to sing, — and then, 
To spread the gathered wealth abroad 
i8 



CHARTER-DAY POEM 

To every dwelling-place of men, 
As, with the ancient dragon-hoard, 
Siegfried, the slayer, southward rode 
With the red serpent gold that glowed. 
All glorious, at his saddle-bow. 

Ride on, O conqueror, with thy spoil 
Of error and thy gifts of might ! 

Ride on, that every heart may know 
The sudden sun of wisdom' s light. 

That through the loneliest prairie ways, 
Where the least sod-built shanty stands, 
Or where the city's million hands 

Toil grimy through the grudging days. 

The blessing of thy gifts may go. 

That our new land may rise and know. 

As the old peoples of the past. 

The joys that do not pale, the hopes that 
last 

Against the hour of death, and make of life 

More than a barren strife, 

And of life's end no mere forgetfulness. 

So shall thy mission be to bless. 

To raise, to brighten, and to lead us on 

Till the last fight is won, 

The utmost end accomplished, and we see 

Far up above us, white and marvellous, 

19 



SONGS OF EXILE 

The peaks long-sought, and hear acclaim- 
ing us 
The voices of old victors gloriously 
Triumphing up the slopes of victory. 



HOME 

INTO the East and away from the plain. 
In the west wind's track we roam j 
Over the waving wastes of grain, 
Till we come to the heaped, stern hills again. 
Till we come to the hills of home. . 

The pine trees nod on the windy crest, 

The clean streams flash below. 
And oh, for the calm, firm, rocky rest, 
The stubborn strength of the earth's ribbed 
breast. 

And the flowers our old eyes know ! 

We have delved the black of the prairie earth. 

The muck of the rotting sod. 
We have shared the drouth and the rain-rot 

dearth. 
We have sorrowed, have laughed with the 
devil's mirth. 
In a land that knew no God. 
20 



HOME 

We have coined black mould into gleaming 
gold, 

We have minted the green of grain, 
The strength of our lives is spent and sold — 
And now we are old, and the tale is told, 

And God knows whose the gain ! 

Here's off with the slime of the clinging clay, 

And the stench of the dense sunflowers. 
And the dry keen wind that cries all day — 
And away, oh my heart, away and away. 
To the old loved land of ours ! 

To our own loved land, where the white 
gull swoops. 
Where the salted sea-wind cries, 
Where the taut sheet drips, and the lee rail 

scoops. 
And the gray, long veil of the rain-squall 
stoops 
From the wrack of the scudding skies. 

Into the East, from the dread of the plain. 

In the west wind's track we come. 
God bring us safe through the wastes of grain, 
Safe back to the heaped sea-hills again. 
Safe back to the hills of home. 



SONGS OF EXILE 



PRAIRIE 

>. 

ACROSS the sombre prairie sea j 

The dark swells billow heavily. .; 

Are the looming ridges near or far 
That heave to the smooth horizon-bar ? 



The russet reach of grassy roll ' 

Sickens the heart and numbs the soul, '. 

The thin wind gives no air for breath, i 
The stillness is the pause of death. 

1 
This width was never shaped to be 

The home of man's mortality, | 
A breathless vacuum of peace, 

Where life's spent ripples spread and cease. i 

No end, no source, its spaces know, 1 
Wide as the sea's perpetual flow 

Is its dead stand — dull wall on wall \ 

Of sullen waves unspiritual. ] 

God give me but in dream to come \ 

Back to the pine-clad hills of home, j 

Back to the old eternity j 

Of placid, all-consoling sea. i 

2Z 



COLD 



COLD 

THE last sunflower stalk is burnt, 
The last of the bread is gone, 
And cold across the snow-swept plain 
Comes gray the aching dawn. 

The thin grass rustles by the door, 

The windows jar and cry, 
The white drift sifts through the broken pane. 

And the ceaseless snow throngs by. 

Hush — sleep, my little one j soon enough 
The long sleep soothes thy pain — 

Ah, I could sleep, for the dull cold 
Burns into my brain ! 

The shuddering coyote whines and cries. 

And howls to God for food ; 
The great gray wolves troop down arow 

And pause and sniff for blood. 

O God, who feed' St the whining beast. 

Send meat to those that pray ; 
Thou, God, that giv'st the bird his feast. 

Be thou our help to-day ! 

Z3 



SONGS OF EXILE 

In the breathless cruel cold, give help. 
And bring the spring again, 

And ridge the long hills with the great 
Green heritage of grain. 



B 



ON THE PRAIRIE 
ARE, low, tawny hills 
>With bluer heights beyond, 
And the air is sweet with spring. 
But when will the earth respond ? 

Prairie that rolls for leagues. 

Dusky and golden-pale. 
Like a stirless sea of waves. 

Unbroken by ship or sail. 

The hollows are dark with brush, 

And black with the wash of showers. 

And ragged with bleaching wreck 
Of the ranks of the tall sunflowers. 

No cloud in the blue, no stir 

Save the shrill of the wind in the grass. 
And the meadow-lark's note, and the call 

Of the wind-borne crows that pass. 
24 



THE PIONEERS 

Bare, low, tawny hills. 

With bluer heights beyond, 
And the air is sweet with sprirtg, 

But when will the earth respond ? 

THE PIONEERS 

PALE in the east a filmy moon 
Creeps up the empty sky. 
And the pallid prairie rounds bleak below. 
And we wonder that we are here j and the 

thin winds sigh 
Through the broken stalks of the sun- 
flowers that wait to die. 
And the sun is gone, and the darkness be- 
gins to grow, 
And out on the shadowy plains we hear 
the coyote's cry. 

Out of the dark of the prairie plains — 
What lurks in the darkened plains ? 

It is there that the coyote howls, 

It is there that the Indian prowls. 
Sinewy-footed, alert. 
Watching to do us hurt ; 

And the sombre buffalo 

Pace, ominous and slow. 



SONGS OF EXILE ] 

With their black beards trailing low 
Over the sifting snow. 

And we, we cower and shake, 

Lying all night awake, — \ 

We in our little sod-built hut in the heart of * 

the plain. i 

God guard us, and make vain 

The wiles of the Indian foe j \ 

God show us how to go, ' 

And lead us in again 1 

Out of the dread of the plain, ; 

Home to the mountains and hills that our \ 

childhood knew, j 

Where over the sombre pine-trees the sea \ 

shines blue. I 



SPRING ON THE PRAIRIE 

OVER the stubborn earth. 
Over the sullen fields. 
Spring bent her brooding wings 
Of sombre thunder-cloud. 
Whispering: " Wake from dearth ; 
Wake, and your answer yield ! " 
And the low clouds bent and bowed. 
And the thunder muttered loud, 
26 



SPRING ON THE PRAIRIE 

And the driving raindrops fell, 

And the hail, and earth answered well. 

The little grass that slept, 

In tiny headlets crept 

Up to the warmth and air. 

And the trees, black-boughed and bare, 

Drank a new life that flushed 

To their tender tips, and blushed 

In the ribbed soft youth of leaves. 

And the warm earth flowered in scent 

Bounteous, indolent. 

All the black wealth of plain 

Answering the pulsing rain. 

And the meadow-lark called his keen 

Flute-note of joy between. 

Across the new-sown rows 

Cawed the slow, lumbering crows, 

Jag-winged and greedy-eyed. 

And all that it seemed had died, 

All that had cowered dumb. 

Awoke and stirred and cried. 

For over the prairies wide 

The spirit of spring had come. 



27 



F 



SONGS OF EXILE 

FAR AWAY 

AR away, in seaward places 



The bristled fir-trees nod, 
And the bluebells lift their faces, 

And the pine holds hands to God. 

The low sea moans and grumbles 
Upon the rounded stones. 

And the clean white foam-line tumbles, 
And the wind of ocean moans. 

And the slant-winged sea-gull, gleaming 

Over the sea-blue bay. 
Seems mine own soul — who dreaming, 

Sit westward, far away. 



THE GIANT WOLF 

THE giant wolf, the woodland wolf, 
Strode southward down the wind. 
And the gale yelled keen, and the m 
gleamed green. 
And the little stars blinked blind. 



28 



PEISINOE 

The seething snow-snakes twined before, 
And hissed through the knotted grass, 

And he heard overhead the sheeted dead, 
That dance in the whirlwind, pass. 

His shag gray locks roughed with the wind. 
His white teeth fanged with wrath j 

Now God be good to the man whose blood 
He smells before his path ! 

Now God be good to the man whose feet 
On the snow-blind, swirling way, 

Shall meet the blaze of his hungry gaze 
And the snarling fangs that slay. 

And happy he that sits at home. 

Where the corn-fire smoulders warm. 

When alone, in the white of the whirling 
night. 
The gray wolf walks the storm. 

PEISINOE 

THE old, old song of the old sea. 
The ancient sea, the serpent sea, 
A lady fair, with gleaming eyes. 
Beneath a gnarled tree. 

29 



SONGS OF EXILE 

A lady fair with gleaming eyes, 
With golden hair, coiled serpentwise 

Round slender throat, round v/hite limbs 
bare 
To strange and sunset skies. 

My wealth, my weal, O lady fair, 
My serpent queen, my lady fair. 

Land, life, for one kiss of thy mouth 
Amid thy golden hair ! 

Her stretched arms call : He follows fleet. 
Her sudden kiss burns sharp and sweet. 

His eyes are blind 5 he may not see 
The pit beneath her feet. 

The old, old song of the old sea. 
The ancient sea, the serpent sea, 

A lady fair, with gleaming eyes, 
Beneath a gnarled tree. 



THE WINTER SEA 

THE sea is stern ; her sternness is 
The anger of the infinite 5 
In all her power there is no peace, 
30 



AT REST 

Her waves' complaint shall never cease 
To sob into the stars'" great night. 

For the sea knows the whole great girth 
And the circle of the barren sky, 

And the small circuit of the earth. 

She knows that God is not, that birth 

Leads to the grave where all must lie. 

White skeletons of many men 

Gleam in the twilight of her caves ; 
All these had hope ; their trusting ken 
Saw God's hand strong to help, but when 
Was God's hand stronger than the 
waves ? 

Cold cannot bind her with his chains. 

The winter tempest is her breath. 
Alone of all things she remains 
Pitiless, changeless, — fed with rains 
And harvestings of human death. 



A 



AT REST 
T the narrow gate of the wind-swept 

strait, 
The white light towers high, 

31 



SONGS OF EXILE 

And black and silent at its foot 
The crippled schooners lie. 

With cordless masts and broken decks, 
And sides flush with the sea, 

They sleep in the summer sun and dream 
Of the days when they were free. 

Like the wild white birds that sought the 
light 
Out of the storm's dark breath, 
They swept, wind-winged, through the 
whirling night, 
And at its foot found death. 



WITHIN THE GATES 

THE low clouds darken down the hills 
And bar the narrow straits. 
Without, the angry ridging sea 
Beats, growling, at the gates. 

Without, the gray great sea heaves free. 

The foamy east-wind calls. 
And the fir-trees wrestle stubborn boughs 

Along the wave-jarred walls. 
32 



THE COMING OF THE STORM 

Within, the schooners swing and sway- 
By the black, rain-sodden pier, 

The swift squalls darken up the bay, 
And the ripples race with fear. 

But far outside, in the fog and rain, 

The great ships lift and reel. 
And the gray waves roar to pluming flame, 

And the keening sea-birds wheel. 



THE COMING OF THE STORM 

WHAT darkens in the west ? 
(Hark how the gulls are calling !) 
The spread black hand of the storm 
That grows with the twilight's falling. 

What gathers in the east ? 

(Hark how the beaches rattle ! ) 
The march of the columned clouds 

That gather to the battle. 

Dark and slow, row on row. 
The ranks of the east assemble. 

And under their line the sea's ranks shine. 
And the long shores quake and tremble. 

33 



SONGS OF EXILE 

The swift scud streams, the white foam 
gleams, 

And fierce shall the onset be. 
And God be his help that strives to-night 

With the armies of the sea ! 

Black ridges with white, mad manes. 

Beaches that roar and rattle. 
And a wind that ranges the wild sea-line,. 

Driving the waves to battle. 



SEA-GULLS 

WHENCE come the white gulls that 
sail. 
That flutter and sink and sail ? 
Their red beaks flash and glitter. 
Their wide wings droop and trail. 

They follow the sea-tide's call, 
They troop, at the sea-tide's call, 
Over the wide sea-spaces 
And along the dark sea-wall. 

Along the dark sea-steep. 

By the black cliffs, bare and steep, 

They flutter and fall and scream. 

They drift slow-winged in sleep. 

34 



IN SPRING 

They wander and brighten and gleam, 
As the wind-clouds shift and gleam — 
Souls of sea-winds that wander 
In a sea-encircled dream. 



ALAS, THE WEARY WHILE! 

ALAS, the weary while to spring ! 
The weary while, the snows to cling. 
Ere north the nest-bound swallows wing. 
And wide the rapturous south wind fling 
The portals of the sun. 

Ah, sweet, the weary while to wait, 

Till summoning spring shall burst the gate, 

And bring, embowered, irradiate, 

The hour — ah, sweet, the while to wait 

Till springtime be begun ! 



IN SPRING 

LIFE'S but a spark that flares its flame 
And sinks to sullen gray 5 
But ah, the flame, and the joy of the flame. 
Before it dies away ! 

35 



SONGS OF EXILE 

The breath of the bloom and the blaze of 
the sun, 

And the emerald boon of May, 
And the arms of love and the eyes of love 

And the hour that is for aye ! 

The spring winds storm the whispering hill, 

A sea of glinted spray. 
The night- vales throb with the whip-poor-will, 

The moon brings love's mild day, — 
For ah, the flame, and the joy of the flame, 

And the blossoming boon of May, 
The arms of love and the eyes of love. 

And the hour that lives for aye ! 



THE BROOK'S GOOD-NIGHT 

DID you not hear the whisper. 
In the hollow by the mill ? 
For Nature is talking to the brook 
That prattles beneath the hill : 
'* Child, will you not be still ? 
Will you not sleep ? Little one, pretty one, 
look, 
It is warm to-day, but the grim north 
wind will come back ; 
36 



THE ELM 

He is only skulking to-day, 
Treading and trampling the tumbled leaves 
in the wood, 

And his brows are bad and black. 
Peace, little one, be good. 
Be good and be quiet, sleep in your cradle 
of ice. 

And I will throw 

Safe over you my coverlet of snow. 
My coverlet, to keep 
You sheltered in your sleep, 

To keep you sheltered safe from all keen 
winds that blow. 
Sleep, darling, have no fear, 
For I am with you, dear ! '" 



u 



THE ELM 

PON his huge gray-crusted boughs 
The swarming song-birds sing ; 
Above, the cawing crow flaps north 
With fringed and sullen wing. 



Beneath his feet the grasses start, 

The heart-leaved violets stir, 
The south wind whispers of the spring, 

The strong sun tells of her. 

37 



SONGS OF EXILE 

His leaves awake not at their touch, 

He waits the stronger rays, 
The sultry and supremer hours 

Of May' s embowering days. 

Then from his giant boughs shall spread 
The green embracing dome, 

The arched strong shelter of God' s love 
To roof the forest home. 



AMONG THE OAKS 

NOT in contentment, side by side. 
With lisp of leafy speech. 
Spread the broad boughs j but wander wide, 
And crave and yearn unsatisfied, 
And sorrow and beseech. 

Each little twig aches out for aid, 
Each leaf lifts hands of prayer ; 
Do they, too, ask for God, afraid 
At his great silence, and dismayed, 
Finding no answer there ? 

O yearning of the aching earth 

That cannot find its fill ! 
38 



LONE GOD 

The little flowers nod with mirth, 
Wind-rufiled, but in doubt and dearth 
The great trees sorrow still. 

They know, they know. The blank of space 

Bears heavy. Far away 
They hear the silence, but always 
Against God's unregarding face 

They watch and plead and pray. 

LONE GOD 

LONE town, crouched in encroaching 
plain, 

Lone ship, encalmed in shimmering sea, 
Lone earth, whose ball spins Night's domam, 

Lone soul, that dwells eternity, 
Lone sun, whose courtiered course must wait, 

Kin sun, to match thy course with his, 
Lone God, enthroned to consummate 

Climaxing time ! In heaven s bliss 
Creep no sad notes to thwart the strong 

Uplift of seraph praise — no shade 
Darkening gold heaven, that no sweet song 

Sings love, save thou the singer made ? 
Creation's pinnacle yearns lone ; 
No kin God knows thy God-need, none ! 

39 



SONGS OF EXILE 

SONG HOMES ON HILLS 

SONG homes on hills ; no placid plains 
Can hem its powers ; it disdains 
Their unaspiring calm, to dare 
More arduous air. 

The blown Acropolis caught fire 
Of song 5 the dull Boeotian lyre, 
Stagnated, ceased. Upon the height, 
Alone, flamed light. 

Up from the plains ! Up where the hills 
Stoop windward, where ridged sunset fills 
The vales with misted gold, where trees 
Speak windy peace ! 

Up where the clouds go, where the birds 
Stoop reeling, where the heart to words 
Leaps as the bird to song, — the strong 
Wild nature-song, — 

Bird-sung, wind-pealed, pine-trumpeted, 
Star-flashed, the clarion to our dead 
Aspirings, bidding them stir, arise, 
And dare the skies. 

40 



IN SOME SWEET PLACE 

Song homes on hills, its power disdains 
The sordid plains j its true domains 
Where riotous the wild wind thrills — 
Its home, the hills ! 



IN SOME SWEET PLACE OF 

SUNSET 

IN some sweet place of sunset, where the 
sun 
Sinks and so passes, and the rounded sea 
And vacant skv, still, though the day be 
done. 
Pulse with his pale diminished memory, 
So the old lustre of those living days, 

When, one with Nature, in her haunts I 
dwelt. 
And sought the hill-tops through the salt 
sea-haze. 
And pierced the unwilling wood, or 
gladly knelt 
Beside some virgin spring, all rock-embow- 
ered, — 
All these old lustres in my soul still 
gleam, 

41 



SONGS OF EXILE 

And through these barren plains I walk, en- 
dowered, 
With sweet diminished radiances of 
dream, — 
Pale visions, quick to vanish, could I see 
O'er eastern hills mine old land smile to me ! 



THE HEAVENS ARE OUR RIDDLE 

THE heavens are our riddle ; and the sea. 
Forested earth, the grassy rustling plain. 
Snows, rains, and thunders. Yea, and even 
we 
Before ourselves stand ominous. In 



The stars still march their way, the sea still 
rolls. 
The forests wave, the plain drinks in 
the sun. 

And we stand silent, naked, — with tremu- 
lous souls, — 
Before our unsolved selves. We pray to 
one 

Whose hand should help us. But we hear 
no voice ; 



42 



TRANSIENCY 

Skies clear and darken ; the days pale 
and pass, 
Nor any bids us weep or bids rejoice. 

Only the wind sobs in the shrivelling 
grass, — 
Only the wind, — and we with upward eyes 
Expectant of the silence of the skies. 



TRANSIENCY. 

WOULD that I were more than the old 
wind 
And the enduring sea — than the blue sky 
That sees the dooms of men ; more than 
this blind 
Bright web of thoughtless life that need not 
die. 
To-day I am more. I make its wonder 
mine : 
To-morrow my pulse stills ; the wind may 
blow 
Unheard above my grave, the sky may shine. 
The blue sea roll its way — I shall not 
know, 
Nor these know of me. Nature pays no 
tears 

43 



SONGS OF EXILE 

In tribute to her transient lord. He fades 
Out from her radiance, and still the years 
Flush with new green the forest-scented 
glades, 
Where not a nodding flower shall pine that 

he, 
Friend of all tenderest flowers, has ceased 
to be. 



AND LOVE, THEY SAY, SHALL 
FADE 

AND love, they say, shall fade, — like 
summer weed 
At winter's frost shall wither, — and 
thou, again, 
That smilest now, shalt know love's piteous 
need. 
And empty arms, and uncompanioned pain. 
Thy lips shall cease from kisses, and her face 
That shone for thee shall shine to other eyes. 
Or slowly, shred by shred, be shorn of grace. 
And pale from the old beauty thou 
didst prize. 
Alas, and shall it be ? I think not Life, 
Slow builder of sweet love, shall topple 
down 
44 



WHO ARE YE 

His gradual temple, or the loving wife 

Grow less beloved than who in maiden gown 

First won the wavering heart, or time de- 
clare 

The face each morn more dear can grow 
less fair. 



WHO ARE YE THAT HASTE 
AWAY 

WHO are ye that haste away, 
With figures bowed, with garments 

gray, , , 

Into the deep of the sunset s sleep ? 

<'We are the griefs of yesterday. ' ' 

Why, gray griefs, do' ye take your flight ? 
What dawn of wonder, what new-born light, 
Shall seal to-morrow from the hosts of 
sorrow ? 

«< Another has come, of greater might." 

Who Is he, with power above 
Your power that all men perish of? 

45 



SONGS OF EXILE 

*^One tender, yet tearless, with strong heart 

fearless. 
The lord of sorrow, the master. Love ! ' ' 



THE MESSAGE 

I MADE a little song one day, 
Not over sad nor over gay, 
And every word thereof was full 
With praise of one most beautiful. 

To her I sang it, while o'erhead 
The sunset deepened into red 
Behind the hills 5 word, song, and verse 
With utter love made wholly hers. 

And so I put it from my heart ; 
I said : '*My song, since hers thou art. 
Save at her bidding it shall be. 
Return thou nevermore to me."" 

And as I lie to-day, quite still. 
Beside her grave upon the hill. 
The little song comes back, so clear. 
So sweet, I think she sent it here. 



46 



BEFORE THE BATTLE 



T 



BEFORE THE BATTLE 
JO-NIGHT/' they said, 
When the day is dead, 
When we are slain, or the foe is fled, — 
At set of sun. 
When all is done. 
When all is lost, or the fight is won, — 
Then we shall sleep 
In Death's dark keep, 
Or drink the red wine till the night is deep. 
Ride ! Ride ! 
With our wrath to guide. 
Into the battle, sword by side ! 

*' To-night," they laughed. 

As they stooped and quaff'ed 
The red, fierce wine from the stirrup cup, 

<< To-night, when we come, 

The funeral dmm 
Shall throb to startle their souls that sup ; 

Or the flags shall stream. 

And the banners gleam. 
And our trumpets blow triumph as we ride 
up ! 

Ride ! Ride ! 

47 



SONGS OF EXILE 

With our wrath to guide, 
Into the battle, sword by side ! 

" Away and away ! 

For the morn is gray. 
And the sword-blades hunger and stir in the 
sheath. 

And above the hills 

The red sky fills 
With the dawning terror of blood beneath. 

The white blades burn 

And the keen spears yearn 
To harvest the red, ripe field of death. 

Ride ! Ride ! 

With our wrath to guide. 

Into the battle, sword by side ! " 



GRAND MANAN ISLAND 

THERE is no sense of human fellowship 
Where rise these cliffs in sea-girt 
majesty ; 
Barren and dark, gray with the mystery 
Of ocean-wandering clouds that veer and slip 
With the wind's changing will, they stand, 

and dip 
48 



BEHIND THE BARRIERS 

Their dark foundations in unfathomed sea. 
Here all is stern. Here may no kind 
gods be. 
The strong tide holds all in his iron grip. 

Here are no kindly gods, but rather they 
That sat sword-girded on the northland 
hills, 
Giant of purpose, resolute of might. 
Watching calm-browed to that fore-destined 
day 
When all the iron anger of their wills 
Should perish in the twilight of the 
night. 



BEHIND THE BARRIERS 

BEHIND the barriers of the sea, 
Beside the quiet pools lie we. 
On grassy banks, where grow at will 
The meadow-sweet and daffodil. 

No tree to break the pale blue sky 
Where clouds and wind go speeding by, 
Hurled inland, not at peace, as we, 
Behind the barriers of the sea. 

49 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Like a sea-wave, the great sea-wall 
Lifts darkling, and the distant fall 
Of waters on its outer verge 
Shrills sombre with the spreading surge. 

But here at rest on banks of flowers. 
Small care of wind or waves is ours. 
Beside the quiet pools lie we. 
Behind the barriers of the sea. 



DA CAPO 

THE drift of the blushed apple-blossoms, 
falling, falling 5 
Petal and sunflake stealing together to the 

bowers of the grass, 
And the thrill of the branch-burrowed 

thrushes, calling, calling 5 
And the thought — like pale, sun-killing 

cloud — of the blossoms that pass ; 
The bloom to the fruit, and the fruit to dull 

earth, to the ultimate seed 5 
To ripen, to shoulder to light, to expand 

into deed. 
And — die ! Does the dark conquer light, or 

light dominate dark ? 
50 



THINE EYES ARE MIRRORS 

Ah, God, if God be, shall our spark 

Seed us eternal ? — The blossoms are falling. 

The thrushes are calling, calling. 



THINE EYES ARE MIRRORS OF 
STRANGE THINGS 

THINE eyes are mirrors of strange things 
That thou canst never understand. 
The secret and the hidden springs 
Of spirit-land. 

Thy heart is lighter than the breast 

Of dawn's glad bird that cleaves the skies 

To sunlight — but the world's unrest 
Lies in thine eyes. 

The yearning of the years that weep 
For all the bliss that shall not be 

Dwells in them — thoughts too sadly deep 
To dwell with thee. 

These are the shrine where sits thy soul 
Wise in the silence, being dumb 

With knowledge of the dread control 
Of days to come. 

51 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Thine eyes are mirrors of strange things 
That thou mayst never understand, 

The secret ways, the hidden springs, 
Of spirit-land. 



BACCALAUREATE HYMN, HAR- 
VARD, '90 
TO Thee, O Father, we whose way 
Lies yet untrodden and untried, 
Through joy, through sorrow, humbly pray, 
Be Thou our help, be Thou our guide. 

No skill is ours to walk aright 

The path of life with peril strewn 5 

No strength is ours save in Thy might. 
No wisdom but in Thee alone. 

Through joyous days, through days that weep, 
We fare, with eyes that look to Thee, 

On to the last great change of sleep. 
Beyond which waits the life to be. 

So guide us, that, in that last hour. 
The battle o'er, the victory won. 

We lay the trophies of Thy power 
Before the brightness of Thy throne. 

52 



CLASS-DAY ODE 



CLASS-DAY ODE, HARVARD, '90 

FAIR Harvard, ere we in our turn pass 
away 
From thy portals, our song we upraise, 
One note in the song of the world-sundered 
throng 
Of thy sons, who are one in thy praise j 
From thy throne by the storm-beaten shores 
of the east 
To the western, far shores of the sea. 
That thy splendor and fame may endure, 
and thy name 
In the mouths of thy sons yet to be. 

Through the change of the years wherein 
laughter and tears 
Shall be mingled as sunshine and shade. 
We shall march with thy grace for our guid- 
ance, thy face 
Still before us, by dread undismayed. 
As the thunder and song of the sea on the 
long 
Sea-ramparts, thy praise shall ascend ; 
And to thee, who giv'st might to thy sons, 
in the light 
Of thy learning, be fame without end. 

53 



\ 

SONGS OF EXILE 



A SONG OF FALLEN LEAVES 

I SAT in the old garden, ; 
In the ancient, stone-wrought chair, 

And the leaves were whirling and falling, '! 

And I knew that she was there, — | 

There in the seat beside me. 

And all was as it should — i 

The leaves from the shuddering branches i 

Dropped slow and red as blood. ' 

And I turned to touch, to call her, \ 

But, lo, she was not there ! I 

Only the leaves fell slowly ; 
On the ancient, stone-wrought chair. 

Oh, love, love of all hours, 

Of waking or of dream, j 

Come, for the night sinks dreary, I 

And I fear the silent stream. , 

i 

It winds through the windless hollows, ' 

And with leaves its pools are strown, 1 

And strange dreads watch beside it, . 

And I dare not go alone. j 
54 



DEATH'S DOOR 

For I know by the bridge-head yonder 
The spirit of dead glad days 

Stands, with drooped eyes, waiting, 
And my soul knows what he says. 

And I know that the black still river 

Is deep as a spirit's pain, 
And they that sink within it 

Shall never rise again. 



DEATH'S DOOR 

A WISCONSIN LEGEND 

OVER the ice, over the white plains 
hoar, — 
Who are these that creep by night. 
In the hour of the white midnight 
That dare the league-wide passage of Death's 
Door } 

Black-haired, with heron-plumes. 
He is the king that looms 
The midmost in the dance, — 
Is that a mortal glance 
That his sudden eye reveals ? 
See where his comrade steals, 

55 



SONGS OF EXILE 

See where the whole host come, 
Trooping, still, dark and dumb, — 
Stealthy Indian spies. 
Over the snow-ridged ice ! 

Long and long ago, — 

So runs the t^le of woe, — 

Indian and bride 

Sank in the ice-black tide, 

Sunken, seen no more. 

In the darkness of Death's Door. 

IN THE SILENCE OF THE SUNSET 

IN the silence of the sunset. 
By the quiet river's side, 
I walked through the sea-sweet meadows 
At the flooding of the tide. 

And up the glassy river 

Came a ripple from the sea. 
And a gull veered high above me. 

And my soul grew sad in me. 

For I thought. In the northern highlands^ 

By the northern ocean's foam. 
She sits, somewhere at the sunset. 

Far off in her northland home. 
56 



AT EVENING 

Of her the sea-waves whisper. 
As they ripple through the grass, 

Of her the sea-gulls tell me 

As they flutter and wheel and pass. 

And to her my heart turns craving. 

Though far away she be. 
Across wide wastes of ocean. 

By the cliffs of the northland sea. 



AT EVENING 

GOD flushed the sunset through the cup 
Of misted hills and said, 
** Now the day is dead, 
Earth dark, let thine eyes look up ! "" 

Toil sleeps, care lulls, now cease 

The tumultuous wheels of day. 
And the sun's last ray 

Spreads the purple of night's peace. 

The curtained mists above 

The darkened valley spread. 

Hush ! God has said 
His sunset word of love. 

SI 



SONGS OF EXILE 



A MEMORY 

TWO little hills, — my mountains then, — 
A small ravine between, 
Beneath whose mystery of boughs 

The hollow heart of green 
Was quick with tremulous fear, with hope 
Of fairer flowers unseen. 

With childhood's wonder, innocent 

Of wiser scorn. 
Plunging through rustling boughs back-bent, 

Moist with the morn. 
Into the sprayed fantastic brake 

And crisp thin grass 
Stirred with the swing of some swift snake, — 

To part and pass 
The caverns of the gold and green 

Strange solitude 
With fearful hopes of things unseen. 

Not surely good, — 
To pluck the white stars, softly tinged 

With sunset skies 
As cheeks in slumber — faintly fringed 

By half-shut eyes — 
All this that w^as, the sense of bliss 

Unknowing, free, 
58 



PR^TERITA 

Quick with the wind, the sunshine's kiss. 

The smiling sea, — 
All this has passed. New days have come. 

The book lies sealed. 
The shrines are darkened, all is dumb, 

No word revealed. 
Only, to-day, in hours that are 

Outworn with care. 
Old memories brighten, break the bar, 

Once more are fair. 
Once more — a moment — as life was, 

And then, but this. 
As on the lips of them that pass 

Lies love's last kiss. 



PR^TERITA 

THE world has quite outgrown her song, 
Because the world has sung too long. 
And so the world shall sing no more, 
And song is o'er. 

For men are wiser than of old. 
And men have learned the worth of gold. 
And men have set their hearts above 
The spell of love. 

59 



SONGS OF EXILE 

Men's eyes shall cease to weep, they say, 
For pity, in the coming day. 
And none shall laugh through all the earth 
Made bare of mirth. 

Then heaven that we hoped shall be 
As the old tale of Arcady, 
And men, in spirit as in breath. 
Shall die in death. 

The world has quite outgrown her song. 
Because the world has sung too long. 
And so the world shall sing no more, 
And song is o'er. 

THERE IS A MUSIC IN THE 
MARCH OF STARS. 

THERE is a music in the march of stars. 
And song that fills the pulses of the sea. 
That whispers in the wind, and piteously 
Sobs in the rain, a chant that grates and jars 
In the dull thunder's heart, that makes or mars 
The song of nature, the world-song that we 
Hear loud above us, the great symphony 
That throbs from life against death's barrier 

bars. 
60 



THE DAY IS DONE 

What is the music of the song of life ? 

What is its theme, — of heaven or of hell ? 
We know not : joy and grief and love and 

strife 
Are mingled there, nor shall the answer be 
Till the great trumpet of God's doom 
shall tell 
The thundered keynote to the land and sea. 

THE DAY IS DONE 

A BAR of cloud in the flaming west, — 
The wind from the west, the wind 
from the sun. 
And the black sea foaming from crest to 
crest, 
The day is done. The day is do7ie. 

Make sail upon the swaying mast. 
Into the flight to meet the snn. 

Sail ! for the darkness gathers fast, 

And the day is done. The day is done. 

Leave hope behind, with her that is dead. 

Into the dark. Farewell, O sun I 
Forget her eyes and her golden head. 

The day is dotte. The day is do?ie. 

6i 



SONGS 'OF EXILE 

God of the sad, guide thou my feet, 

The wind blows red fj'om the sinking 
sun. 

When shall my heart forget my sweet ? 
Now the day is done, now the day is done. 

'*Thou shalt sail the swaying world of sea, 
And breast the rising of the sun. 

But the grief of her eyes shall follow thee. 
Though the day is done, though the day 
is done. 

" Thou shalt wander wide from place to 
place. 
Ah, God, the risings of the siml 
And everywhere thou shalt see her face." 
Ah, God, ah, God, were the day but 
done! 

Away, away, up the ridging sea, 

What help in the sea, what help in 
the sun ? 
Perhaps in death she will come to thee — 
When the day is done, when the day is 
done. 
62 



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